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THE   DIVINE    IMAGE 

A  BOOK  OF  LYRICS 


THE    DIVINE    IMAGE 


A  BOOK  OF  LYRICS 


By 

CAROLINE  GILTINAN 


**For  this,  for  this  the  lights  innumerahle 
As  symbols  shine  that  we  the  true  light  win: 
For  every  star  and  every  deep  they  fill 
Are  stars  and  deeps  within" 

A.  E,  {George  W, [Russell) 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


Copyright,  1917 
By  The  Cornhill  Company 

All  rights  reserved 


IN  LOVING  REMEMBRANCE  OF 

HELEN  McCaffrey  giltinan 


A  noi  Ofi 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

For  permission  to  reprint  certain  poems  in  this 
book  thanks  are  due  to  the  editors  and  proprietors 
of  Lippincotfs  Magazinij  The  Catholic  Worlds 
The  Queen's  Work,  The  Poetry  Journaly  The 
Poetry  Review,  The  Boston  Transcript,  The 
Philadelphia  North  American,  and  the  Anthology 
of  Magazine  Verse  for  1915  and  1917.  Appreciation 
is  expressed  to  William  Stanley  Braithwaite  for  his 
unfailing  kindness  and  encouragement. 


CONTENTS 

The  Breeze 1 

Over  Night,  a  Rose 2 

The  Coward 4 

When    Darkness     Covered    the 

Earth 5 

Clouds    7 

The  Courtyard  Pigeons  ....  8 
Mary    Fitton,  to    Master    Will 

Shakespeare 10 

My  Heart  is   Full  of  Vagrant 

Songs 12 

Mater  Salvatoris 13 

Wanting  So  the  Face  Divine      .  IS 

The  Little  Maid 16 

Magic .  18 

Realism 19 

Would  the  Sky  Be  Beautiful     .  20 

All  That  I  Love 21 

"Vive  La  France!" 22 

Durance 23 

Chips 24 

Certainty 26 

After  Dark 27 

iz 


Cost 28 

Cry  of  the  Childless      ....  29 

Protest 30 

Shackled 31 

To  My  Victrola 32 

Rodin's  "  Hand  of  God  ''     .     .     .  35 

His  Woman 36 

Tradition 37 

The  Sisters 38 

The  Hungry 39 

Before  the  Dawn  ......  40 

The  Interloper 41 

Proficient 42 

Mated 43 

Absence 44 

Toll 45 

The  Changeling 46 

The  Conjurer 48 

Reaping 49 

The  Ransom 50 

Achievement 51 

The  Sacrifice 52 

The  Thirteenth  Station     ...  54 

Testimony 55 

z 


THE   DIVINE    IMAGE 

A  BOOK  OF  LYRICS 


THE   BREKZE-         '  ' 

Something     touched     me     as     I 

walked 
Beneath  the  silent  trees — 
A  soft  caress  against  my  lips — 
It  may  have  been  a  breeze; 

But  with  it  came  the  thought  of 

you 
And  all  you've  grown  to  mean. 
A   wandering   wind, — or   was    it 

you: 
A  messenger  unseen? 

The  bright  new  leaves  grew  very 

still; 
They  did  not  dance  or  play. 
Nor    did    my    heart — for,    in    a 

breath, 
The  breeze  had  gone  away. 


[I] 


0VER  NIGHT,  A  ROSE 

That    over    night    a    rose    could 
come 
I,  one  time  did  believe, 
For  when   the   fairies   live   with 
one, 
They  wilfully  deceive. 
But  now  I  know  this  perfect  thing 

Under  the  frozen  sod 
In  cold  and  storm  grew  patiently 

Obedient  to  God. 
My  wonder  grows,  since  knowl- 
edge came 
Old  fancies  to  dismiss; 
And  courage  comes.    Was  not  the 
rose 
A  winter  doing  this? 
Nor    did    it    know,    the    weary 
while, 
What  color  and  perfume 
With  this  completed  loveliness 
Lay  in  that  earthy  tomb. 

[2] 


So  maybe  I,  who  cannot  see 
What  God  wills  not  to  show, 

May,  some  day,  bear  a  rose  for 
Him 
It  took  my  life  to  grow. 


[3] 


THE  COWARD 

It  lies  before  my  wounded  feet: 
The  cross  I  am  to  bear. 
Blocking  my  path,  it  frightens  me 
To  see  it  lying  there. 

And  yet  I  dare  not  turn  away, 
Nor  yet  dare  go  around. 
God !  give  me  strength  to  carry  it : 
The  thing  upon  the  ground  1 


[4] 


WHEN  DARKNESS  COV- 
ERED THE  EARTH 

Blood-guilty   with   blood    of    the 

Sinless  One 
And  tortured  by  memory, 
Three  wretched  men,  ere  the  night 

had  run, 
Travelled  from  Calvary. 

Sharing  their  grief  and  bitter  fear, 
(Since  hatred  had  gone  with  the 

sun!) 
Shudderingly,  each  man  asked  to 

hear 
What  work  the  others  had  done. 

^*I  am  the  one  who  plaited 
The  crown  of  briar  and  thorn. 
God!  how  His  hair  was  matted! 
God!  how  His  head  was  torn!" 


[S] 


^^And  I,  when  He  asked,  denied 

Him 
A*  draught    from    my   brimming 

grail." 
^Woe,  woe — unto  me,  I  despised 

Him 
And  drave  through  His  hand  the 

nail." 


[6] 


CLOUDS 

(A  child  speaks) 

Those  fleecy,  white  and  floating 

things 
They    are    the    backs    of    angels' 

wings. 
They  can't  be  impolite,  you  know, 
And  turn  to  look  on  us  below, 
But     always     keep     their     faces 

toward 
Our  Lady  Mary  and  the  Lord. 
Yet,    I    can    guess    what    lovely 

things 
Are  hidden  by  those  angel-wings. 


[7] 


THE  COURTYARD 
PIGEONS 

Dear  birds,  that  flutter  happily 
Against  the  grey  stone  wall, 
That  hides  the  joyous  sun   from 
me, 
Do  you  not  hear  my  call? 
Each    weary   day   when    you    go 
past 
To  strut  and  perch  up  there, — 
Or  when  you  soar  away  so  fast, 

I  watch  you, — and  I  care : 
For,  in  your  iridescent  flight. 

My  eyes  have  learned  to  see 
How,    in   this   strange   and   man- 
made  night. 
One  thing,  at  least,  goes  free. 
And  do  you  know  what  you  have 
taught 
In  low  and  cooing  cries? 


[8] 


Though  much  is  gone,  they  have 
not  bought 
The  part  of  me  that  flies! 


[9] 


MARY  FITTON, 

TO  MASTER 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE 

''The  better  angel  is  a  man  right 
fair, 

The  worser  spirit  a  woman  col- 
or d  ill. 

To  win  m.e  soon  to  hell,  m,y  fe- 
male  evil 

Tempteth  my  better  angel  from 
my  side 

And  would  corrupt  my  saint  to 
be  a  devil 

Wooing  his  purity  with  her  foul 
pride/' 

So  long  a  time,  and  is  it  fair  to 
keep 
My    image    darkened    in    your 

bitter  word 
That   stabs    my    heart,    though 
dust,  as  if  a  sword 

[lO] 


Turned  there  to  wound,  and  made 
the  wound  more  deep? 

Had  I  been  foul,  would  both  your 
angels  weep? 

Though    the    times    spurned,    to 
me  a  singing  bird 
Your  vision  came  in  music  my 
being  heard 

Color'd    with    Prosperous    island- 
haunted  sleep. 

Why  was  I   blind,  when  most  I 
wished  to  see — 
Accepting  less   than  what  was 
tossed  away: 
Unknowing  then,  this  world 
beyond  what  seems — 
This  world  from  which  you  have 
exiled  me? 
Around  your  moods,  I,  as  your 
angel,  play; 
And  am  a  part  of  all  your 
greatest  dreams! 

[II] 


MY  HEART  IS  FULL  OF 
VAGRANT  SONGS 

My  heart  is  full  of  vagrant  songs 
That,  flashing  to  and  fro, 
Escape  the  words  which  covet 

them 
And  tease  me  as  they  go. 

But  in  the  woods  they  seldom 

come; 
Underneath  the  trees 
My  songs  are  silent,  for  I  hear 
More  lovely  sounds  than  these. 

The  stream  is  dashing  over  rocks : 

Two  voices  can  be  heard. 

From  where  the  green  is  still  and 

thick 
Come  the  love-notes  of  a  bird. 


[12] 


MATER  SALVATORIS 

Against   thy   breast   and   covered 
with  thy  hair 
Christ  Jesus   lay,    for   God   so 

trusted  thee 
His  only  Son  was  born  —  dear 
mystery !  — 
A  helpless  Baby,  needing  all  thy 

care. 
Sweet  Mary,  was  He  even  then 
aware  — 
The    little    Saviour    shepherds 

came  to  see 
In    Bethlehem  —  that    to    His 
Calvary 
Thy   love   must   follow   and    His 
Passion  share? 

And  ever  since,  each  sinner  is  thy 
child 
For  whom  thy  tender  pity  doth 
beseech ; 

[13] 


My  Blessed  Lady,  take  me  to 
my  Brother. 
He  would  forgive,   if  only  once 
He  smiled: 
With   memories,   His   heart  of 
mercy  reach, 
For  God  is  Love  and  thou — 
thou  art  His  Mother. 


[14] 


WANTING    SO   THE    FACE 
DIVINE 

To  M 


Wanting  so  the  Face  divine, 

I    searched    within    this    soul    of 

mine, 
But  there  the  Image  is  so  dim: 
Unlike,  unlike,  it  seems  to  Him. 

Weary  of  heart,  with  faith  grown 

weak. 
Again,  the  vanished  Face  I  seek. 
Lo!  in  my  need,   God  sends  me 

thee: 
And  from  thy  soul.  He  smiles  on 

me! 


[15] 


THE  LITTLE  MAID 

Three  Saints  of  Heaven  wanted, 

long  ere  thy  life  began, 
One  perfect  little  earth-child  and 

asked  God  for  thee,  Jeanne. 
Saint  Michael,  strong  and  valiant; 

Saint  Margaret,  mother,  queen; 
Saint  Catherine,  virgin,  saw  thee, 

a  little  maid,  thirteen. 
Then  each  one  came  to  visit  thee, 

bewildered,  frightened  child, 
And  each  one  gave  a  gift  most  rare 

to  still  thy  heart  so  wild. 
Saint  Catherine  kept  thee  chaste 

and  sweet;  Saint  Michael,  like 

a  man; 
Thy  beauty,  courage,  strength  of 

soul,  Saint  Margaret  mothered, 

Jeanne. 
Each  Saint  so  loved  thee  each  one 

stayed  a  constant  guardian  .  .  . 


Ti6] 


They  saved  thee  for  the  Sacred 
Breast  whose  Heart  most  loves 
thee,  Jeanne! 


[17] 


MAGIC 
A    world    transformed!      There 
flashes 
One  vivifying  gleam: 
My  heart,  the  tabernacle, 
I,  warder  of  the  Dream. 


[i8] 


REALISM 

Did  planning  bugs  and  toads  and 

worms 
Make  the  Creator  sad? 
Well,  at  the  Thought  of  wooded 

hills, 
I  think  that  God  was  glad. 


1 19] 


WOULD  THE  SKY  BE 
BEAUTIFUL? 

Would  the  sky  be  beautiful  if  it 

were  not  blue; 
And  if  the  grass  were  not  so  green 
Would  crocuses  peep  through? 
Suppose  the  morn  came  silently 
Without  this  burst  of  song; 
And  had  we  never  loved,  my  dear, 
Would  all  our  days  seem  long? 

But  God   has   made   the   sky   all 

blue ; 
The  grass  a  vivid  green; 
While   just   beneath   the  softened 

mold, 
A  garden  grows  unseen. 
And   I — I   call  thee  through  the 

dawn 
When  birds  awake  to  sing: 
Oh,  Life  is  full  of  mystery : 
Beloved,  it  is  Spring! 

[20] 


ALL  THAT  I  LOVE 

All  that  I  love  lies  sleeping 
Under  a  new-made  mound. 

To-night  I  see  the  sky  again: 
And  the  moon  is  nearly  round. 


[21] 


^^VIVE  LA  FRANCE!" 

In  a  crowded  car  we  crossed  the 
bridge, 

Packed  in  like  silly  sheep 
With  more  than  one  resenting 

A  rudely  broken  sleep. 
The  river  slowly  sullen, 

The  sky  a  sordid  grey, 
And  drizzling  rain  combined  to 
make 

A  dull  and  cheerless  day. 
Arrestingly,  we  saw  it: 

A  poorly  printed  scrawl 
In  chalk  which  stood  out  clearly 

Against  an  old  black  wall. 
Life  suddenly  grew  vital 

In  one,  swift,  thrilling  glance: 
A  heart  and  soul  had  blazoned 
there 

The  letters :  'ViVE  La  France!'' 


[22] 


DURANCE 

My   friend,   God-given  with   the 
years, 
This  night  of  agony 
Too  deep  and  sharp  for  words  or 
tears, 
I  offer  all  for  thee. 

Where  is  the  feeling  heart  of  me? 

A  thing  of  stone  lies  there: 
Can  waiting,  helpless  misery 

And  speechless  grief  be  prayer? 


[23] 


CHIPS 

On  brooks  and  rivers,  creeks  and 

streams, 
Were   logs    and   rafts    and   chips 

afloat; 
But  on  some  shore,  dreaming  its 

dreams, 
A  worthless    chip    said:    ^^I'm    a 

boat. 
To  mid-stream  waters  I  must  go; 
Here  the  eddies  only  play. 
There  I'll  feel  the  ebb  and  flow. 
I  think  I'll  make  the  trip  today." 

Yet,  the  shore  line  held  it  fast, 
Helpless,  hopeless,  always 

twirled, 
And  the  hurrying  boats  went  past 
While  the  chip  unceasing  swirled. 
Then  he  came  —  a  little  child  — 
To  the  bank  to  sail  a  ship 


[24] 


And,  with  rapture  almost  wild, 
He  saw  one  in  the  lonely  chip. 

With   boyish,   laughing,   shouting 

joy 
He  worked  to  set  the  new  boat 

loose ; 
It  sailed,  a  bobbing,  happy  toy  — 
A  chip  that  realized  its  use. 

And  I,  a  woman,  idly  float 
Quite   near   the   shore,    a   useless 

chip. 
I  pray  a  Child  who  wants  a  boat 
Believes  I  am  His  waiting  ship. 


[25] 


CERTAINTY 

Sleep,  darling,  in  my  arms 
Nestled  close  against  my  breast. 
Here  you're  safe  from  all  harms, 
And  so,  we  both  know  rest. 
Your  roughened  head  fills  so  well 
The  warm  nest  God  made  to  fit; 
Your  soft  flesh,  relaxing,  fell 
Clinging  and  content  in  it. 

Your  sweet,  moist  breath,  and 

each  start 
Tell  me  of  the  coming  goal. 
Selfish  I  press  to  my  heart 
The  body  of  the  dreaming  soul, 
(Begging  so)  and  whisper  lowly, 
Wanting  a  good-bye  from  you, 
And  the  heavy  lids  lift  slowly : 
^^Yes;  me  lub  you.    Sure  I  do!" 


[26] 


AFTER  DARK 

When  muzzer  and  me  go  up  the 

stairs, 
I  undress  quick  and  say  my 

prayers. 
And  den,  when  all  of  dem  is  said, 
And  jes'  before  I  hop  in  bed. 
My  muzzer  and   me,   we  has   a 

chat; 
We   hug   and    kiss  —  I    'member 

dat. 
I'm  almost  t'ree  and  getting  tall  — 
An'  after  dat, —  why  dat  is  all! 


[27] 


COST 

Little  Boy  in  the  manger 
Who  saved  a  world  from  woe, 
Did  You  lie  there  freezing? 
She  could  not  have  it  so! 
Snuggled    against   her    throbbing 

breast, 
Wrapped  in  her  own  soft  hair, 
Warmth  You  shared  with  every 

breath, 
Happy  and  peaceful  there. 

But  when  You  left  her  shielding 

arms, 
Saviour  of  fallen  men. 
Bitter  cold  You  did  endure, — 
She  could  not  warm  You  then! 
She  could  not  warm  Your  Body; 
She  could  not  bear  Your  Rod ; 
She    bore,     instead,     a    bleeding 

heart. 
Oh,  were  we  worth  it,  God? 

[28] 


CRY  OF  THE  CHILDLESS 

My  baby  never  came! 

He  is  but  dream  and  name! 

These  empty  arms  so  curve  and 

ache 
Feed  their  hunger.     For  Christ's 

sake 
Lift  this  grief,  of  me  a  part, 
From  my  lonely  breaking  heart 
Let  my  breasts  his  pressure  feel! 
God  of  Pity,  make  him  real! 


[29] 


PROTEST 

Handmaid  of  a  swift  machine, 

She  acts  her  weary  part; 

While   loud    above   the   clanging 

noise 
Beats  her  rebellious  heart. 

Poor  prisoner!  it  pleads  for  life 
With  protest  ceaseless,  strong. 
Against  these  sterile,  empty  years 
So  endless  and  so  wrong! 

She  is  denied  her  rightful  task, 
Debarred  from  Nature's  plan : 
A  fettered  slave  of  a  machine, 
Not  mother  of  a  man! 


[30] 


SHACKLED 

In  stress  and  strain  and  whirr  of 
things 
That  complicate  life  so, 
We    hide    an    instinct's    perfect 
wings 
And  dare  not  let  them  show. 

They  know, —  the  bush,  the  bird, 
the  bee, — 
Their  part,  so  old,  yet  new; 
Do  all  things  know,  save  you  and 
me, 
The  work  that  they  must  do? 

The  prayerful  wish  for  work 
denied 

Has  set  my  spirit  free. 
If  but,  for  i|S,  'twere  simplified 

As  for  that  budding  tree. 


[31] 


TO  MY  VICTROLA 

Within  this  mute  Victrola  lie 
strangely  prisoned  joysl 

''Not  music"?  Well,  what  is  it? 
.  .  .  How  can  you  call  it 
''noise." 

When  twilight  comes  to  hurt  me 

with  memories  I  fear, 
(For  we  were  once  so  happy  and 

now  —  he  is  not  here) 
I  bid  this  friend  of  melody  the 

stabbing  silence  break 
And  in  the  dusk,  it  comforts  me 

and  lessens  sorrow's  ache. 
I    hear   James   Whitcomb    Riley 

his  quaintest  story  tell; 
Or  Schubert  leads  my  heart  within 

some  eerie,  woodland  dell. 
When    Gadski    sings    the    "Ave," 

great  Gounod's  music-prayer. 
My  soul  seeks  out  "Maria"  and 

asks  for  strength  to  bear; 

[32] 


Or  Melba  sings  the  lovely  songs 

of  many  years  ago ; 
And,    for    a    change,    there    is    a 

waltz    from    Victor    Herbert's 

show ; 
Then  Lauder  sings  of  lassies  and 

other  Scottish  folk 
Until    we    hum    the    lilting    air 

and  chuckle  at  his  joke. 
If  very  brave,  I  listen  to  Caruso's 

maddened  cry: 
/^Aida!  ah.  Celeste!"  he  sobs;  so, 

in  my  heart,  do  I ! 
There's      Kreisler      and      Maud 

Powell;    the    love-songs    from 

^^Boheme" 
And     ^  ^  Butterfly" ;     with     lesser 

things  we  know  without  their 

name. 
Each   record  brings   its  different 

mood.     When  gone, —  the  lin- 
gering light,— 

[33] 


And  stars  come  flickering  through 

the  dark  and  it  is  nearly  night, 
I  want  a  bit  of  Chopin  with  pas- 
sion's throbbing  spell, 
Where,  even  in  his  ^^Funebre,"  it 

only  ebbs  to  swell. 
Then,   at  the  close,   McCormack 

who  tenderly  will  sing 
A  ballad  of  his  Ireland  and  make 

'^God  bless  you!"  ring, 
For  if  I  close  my  burning  eyes^ 

another  man  I  see 
And  through  the  dark,  I  feel  his 

arms,  and — ^^hear  him  calling 

me!" 
"Not  music?"     This:  the  power 

whose  poignant,  piercing  tone 
Can    baffle   night    and   loneliness 

until  I'm  not  alone? 


[34] 


RODIN'S  ^^HAND  OF  GOD'^ 

It  is  God's  great  Hand 
Holding  two  He  planned. 
They,  from  all  else  whirled, 
One  in  the  other  furled, 
Fill  the  only  place 
Their  own  in  vast  space. 
With  arms  tightly  clasped. 
Love's  mystery  is  unasked. 
Life  to  life  is  given.^ — 
Marble,  man-riven! 


[35] 


HIS  WOMAN 

In  the  pale,  murmuring  dawn  she 

lay- 
Alone,  with  nothing  more  to  lose. 
Her    eyes    one    soft    white    arm 

espied 
And  lips  too  tired  to  voice  her 

pride 
Caressed  and  kissed  a  bruise. 


[36] 


TRADITION 

Above,  about,  they  flutter: 
Dim  hands  of  women  long  since 

dead 
Who  touch  me  lovingly. 
These  women  of  my  ancient  line. 
Each  with  her  part  in  me, 
Are  banded  now  against  myself  — 
The  self  I  want  to  be. 
Frightened,   they  beg  me   to   re- 
turn; 
And,  clutching,  hold  me  so! — 
Help   me   escape   these   phantom 
hands : 
Beloved,  must  I  go? 


[37] 


THE  SISTERS 

Only  to  blur  it:  the  vision! 

Only  to  feel  less  alive 
To   be   freed   from   this   wish   to 
surrender 
Against  which   I   always   must 
strive. 

To    cease,    for    one    instant,    this 
thinking ; 
To  know  only  joy, —  and  not  sin. 
Unwelcome   one  guest:   the   grey 
stranger 
Who  came  when  my  Love  en- 
tered in. 

Why  need  my  heart  fight  against 

me? 
For    succor,    I    reach    out    my 

hand 
To    her    whom    they    stoned    in 

Samaria  .  .  . 

God!  how  we  two  understand! 
[38] 


THE   HUNGRY 

Whom  does  He  love  the  most  — 
The  poor,  the  sick,  the  blind. 
The  rich,  the  maimed,  the  host 
Unknowingly  unkind? 

The  ones  who  strive,  and  fail; 
The  ones  who  have,  and  lose ; 
The  ones  who  will  not  quail 
Nor  martyrdom  refuse? 

The  wind  went  sobbing  low 
To  His  great  Heart  and  cried: 
^^Dear  God,  they  need  you  so,— 
Who  die  unsatisfied." 


[39] 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

At  night,  sweetheart,   I  am  with 

thee, 
For  dreaming  sleep  unfetters  me; 
And,  when  released,  my  soul  goes 

where 
Her  truest,   purest   thought  may 

dare. 

Reluctantly,  she  comes  away — 
A  captive  to  the  bonds  of  day — 
And  leaves  one  lovely  word  un- 
said : 
Dear,   must   it  wait   till   we    are 
dead? 


[40] 


THE  INTERLOPER 

She  played  with  Love:  the  little 
god. 

This  pink  and  chubby  boy 
Was  asking  soon  to  own  her  heart, 

For  Love  will  have  his  toy. 

Then  bolder  waxed  the  prankish 
Love 

Before  he  stole  away; 
Nor  has  he  yet  returned  the  heart 

She  cries  for  night  and  day. 

A  strange,  strong  man  withholds 
it  now, — 

A  man  of  flame  and  fire!  — 
Love  is  full-grown :  the  little  god 

In  manhood,  is  Desire. 


[41] 


PROFICIENT 

One  time  I  feared  (before  I  knew 

The  man  you've  grown  to  be) 

That  you  would  never  understand 

This  complicated  me. 

That  fear  is  dead!    Another  one 

As  urgent,  bids  me  tell: 

When    you    are    listening    to    my 

heart, 
You  understand  too  well ! 


[42] 


MATED 

At  last  I  see  him  undisguised  — 
Unkind,  unclean,  uncouth, — 

Deceiving  dream,  come  back  and 
hide 
The  terror  of  the  truth. 


[43] 


ABSENCE 

All  melody  comes  to  me  muted; 
All  time  —  one  eternal,  dull  day! 
The  heavens  and  earth  have  been 

looted : 
The  soul  of  my  world  is  away! 


[44] 


TOLL 

Love  seemed  a  fearsome  foe! 
Alarmed, 

Her  breast  she  guarded  'gainst  his 
dart. 

Love  came,  a  laughing  god,  un- 
armed. 

And  slipped  two  hands  beneath 
her  heart. 

But,   all  the  while.  Love  played 

his  game: 
The    happy    time    he    made    his 

stay,— 
Though   empty-handed   when   he 

came. 
Not  so,  the  Love  that  went  away. 


[45] 


THE  CHANGELING 

Until  you  came,  he  lived  with  me : 
My    dream-child    to    be    born 
some  day; 
And,  with  our  hopes,  so  happily 
The  boy  and  I  once  dared  to 
play. 
But  now,  when  he  has  grown  so 
real  — 
This  child  who  would  become 
your  son !  — 
My  trembling  flesh  shrinks  from 
the  feel 
Of   him  —  poor,   little,   wistful 
one. 
So,  from  my  breast  your  babe  I 
tear 
(God!   if    I    dared  to   let   him 
stay!) 


[46] 


And   strangle   what   I    must   not 
bear: 
Nor  shall  you  drag  my  hands 
away! 


[47] 


THE  CONJURER 

Dear  little  one,  with  tender  heart 
You  gave  to  me  a  kiss  unsought 
And  in  a  sudden  holiness, 
I  felt  the  sacred  gift  it  brought. 

With  bending  soul,  I  signed  the 

cross  — 
That   blessing   which    begins    my 

prayer  — 
Because  thy  seeking  baby  lips 
Discovered  mine  and  rested  there. 

From  out  the  potent,  silent  dusk 
My    own    dream-children    came 

and  smiled. 
You  were  not  then,  as  now  you 

are: 
Another  woman's  little  child. 


[48] 


REAPING 

My  son  and  I  together  saw 
The   man    (for  whom   I   blindly 

bore 
This    child,    who    never    should 

have  been) 
Slip  down  the  fatal  road  of  sin. 

For    dying    Love,    there    are    no 

cries. 
God !  help  me  look  into  these  eyes. 
Too  pure  for  pity,  where  I  see: 
'Why,  mother,  were  you  false  to 

me?" 


[49] 


THE  RANSOM 

He  did  not  know  (nor  would  he 

care,) 
What  blocked  the  road  to  Hell; 
And  yet  he  found  it  lying  there 
When,  striking  it,  he  fell. 

But  he  divined  that  he  must  go 
Over  the  road  he  came, 
And  turning  left  it  broken  so, 
Unconscious  of  his  shame. 

A  woman    (seeming  from  the 

dead,) 
After  he  did  depart. 
Came  where  the  road  was  stained 

with  red, 
And,  stooping,  touched  her  heart. 


[50] 


ACHIEVEMENT 

The  biggest  thing  I  ever  did 
Was  all  inside  of  me. 
There  was  a  battle,  hardly  won^ 
With  only  God  to  see. 

When    I    plucked   out   a   flaming 

brand 
Whose  evil  light  shone  through, 
The  place  it  burned  was  black  and 

charred  .  .  . 
But  no  one  ever  knew! 


[51] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

On  Calvary,  when  Christ  was  dy- 
ing, 

A  woman  bitterly  was  crying 

To  Michael  of  the  flaming  sword : 

'^Command  thy  host!  Avenge  the 
LordT' 

And  Michael,  waiting  the  One 
call, 

Watched  and  suffered  through  it 
all. 

Then,  while  he  stood  with  sword 
unsheathed, 

The  tortured  God  His  Law  be- 
queathed : 

^^ Forgive  thy  brother  from  thy 
heart; 

I  ask  of  thee  the  greater  part." 

Though  Hell  itself  the  death  de- 
nounced. 


[52] 


Saint    Michael    all    revenge    re- 
nounced. 
So,  bitterly  the  woman  cried 
On  Calvary, —  for  Jesus  died. 


[53] 


THE  THIRTEENTH 
STATION 

Once  you   journeyed  with   Him, 

Mary  — 
With    your    Son    Who    died    for 

me  — ' 
Sharing  all  He  had  to  suffer 
On  the  way  to  Calvary. 

With  the  expiation  over, 

When    they   laid    Him   on   your 

breast, 
Did  a  little  gladness  tremble 
That,  at  last,  your  Son  could  rest? 

Mother  Mary,  had  you  comfort 
Though  He  lay  there,  dead  and 

torn, 
Taking  from  the  Head  of  Jesus 
That  embedded  crown  of  thorn? 


[54] 


TESTIMONY 

I  stood  on  guard  in  Pilate's  court 

the    day    they    brought    Him 

there, — 
A    beaten    Man    Who    wore    a 

crown  of  thorns  with  regal  air. 
I  watched  while  Pilate  sentenced 

Him  to  suffering  and  death ; 
He   stood    alone    and    motionless 

with  calm  and  even  breath. 
To  die  is  not  an  easy  thing,  yet 

that  is  what  He  heard; 
Then,  turning  'round.  He  looked 

at  us  but  never  said  a  word. 
One  of  the  guard,  I  went  along, 

though  I  had  asked  to  stay. 
And  it  was  I  who  walked  with 

Him    through    all    that    awful 

day. 
He  took  the  cross  in  silence, —  a 

clumsy,  wooden  thing, — 


[55] 


And  looked,  absorbed  and  listen- 
ing, toward  birds  that  dared  to 

sing. 
The  way  was  rough  and  stony  for 

feet  so  bare  and  white; 
His  hair  was  clotted  thick  with 

blood  which  blinded  half  His 

sight. 
The  first  time  that  He  staggered 

beneath  His  heavy  load, 
We  cursed  and  beat  and  kicked 

Him  as  He  fell  upon  the  road; 
But  when   His  Mother  came  to 

Him,  He  straightened  up  and 

smiled 
And  whispered  something  as  He 

passed,  as  though  she  were  His 

child. 
But  after  that  He  needed  help — 

so,  fearing  that  He  might  die, 
We  called  the  strong  man,  Simon, 

who  was  idly  standing  nigh. 

[S6] 


One     woman     named     Veronica 

came  near  to  wipe  His  face; 
Then    suddenly    she    kissed    the 

cloth    and    hurried    from    the 

place. 
It  seemed  for  miles  —  we  travelled 

on;  the  sun  grew  hot  and  then 
With   one  sharp,   little  moan   of 

pain,  the  Man  fell  down  again. 
Soon  after  noon  we  met  a  group 

of  women;  they  all  cried 
And  some  drew  close;  He  touched 

a    child    in    passing    and    He 

sighed. 
To  each  He  gave  some  comfort. 
On  leaving  them,  He  fell 
And  then  I  heard  some  muttered 

words, —  one  Heaven,  and  one 

Hell. 

On  Calvary,  we  stripped  Him, — 
a  fine,  well-muscled  Man, — 


[57] 


And  when  we  threw  Him  on  the 

cross,   the   hammering   began. 
I    am   no   girl, —  I've   killed   my 

men  —  my  record's  brave  and 

clean ; 
But   courage   such    as    this    Man 

showed,  I  never  yet  have  seen. 
We  finished  nailing  through  the 

hands ; —  the  feet  required  one 

nail, 
.  .  .  He    never    deigned    to    cry 

aloud;    He   knew   not   how   to 

fail. 
But  when  we  raised  the  cross  up- 
right. He  saw  a  grove  of  trees 
And  eyes  half-blind  from  agony 

smiled     at     the    young    green 

leaves. 
We   stood   around   to   listen,    for 

from  the  cross  He  spoke; 
The  sorrow  which  He  seemed  to 

feel  was  all  for  other  folk. 


[58] 


Three  hours  He  hung  dying  .  .  . 

I  scarcely  dare  to  think 
Of  all  that  time.     He  begged  me 

once  to  let  Him  have  a  drink; 
And  once  He  called  His  Father 

.  .  .  and  afterward,  came  peace. 
When    He   sank   dead   upon   the 

cross,  why  should  I  feel  release? 

As  they  drew  near, —  His  follow- 
ers, the  Mother  and  the  rest, — 

The  beauty  they  call  Magdalen 
wept  loud  and  struck  her  breast; 

The  others  tried  to  talk  to  her  of 
Jesus  and  His  laws, 

But  she  would  not  be  comforted 
and  cried:  ^^I  am  the  cause!" 

A  man  called  John  was  cherish- 
ing the  Mother  while  she  wept. 

Each  one  of  these  seemed  far 
away;  they  were  as  if  they  slept. 

But  when  they  took  Him  from 
the  cross,  her  arms  were  opened 
wide, — 

[59] 


And  then  again  we  saw  the  blood 
still  flowing  from  His  side. 

She  held  Him  tight  against  her 
breast  the  while  she  sobbed  and 
said: 

"Heart  of  my  Heart,  I  under- 
stand; and  can  be  glad  You're 
dead!" 

They  placed  Him  in  the  sepul- 
chre (I  watched  until  the 
close)  ; 

The  Man  lay  dead  almost  three 
days;  but  afterward  —  He 
rose! 


[60] 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


